Pieces
by Kellen
Summary: The death of a young ranger brings an onset of grief and guilt that is nearly too heavy to bear. Rated for themes of suicide. Vignette.


Pieces

by Kellen

Summary: The death of a young friend brings about the onset of grief and guilt nearly too much to bear. Vignette exploring the emotional aftermath, not the events themselves.

Rating: PG-13 for themes of suicide and grief

Disclaimer: Any recognizable character and setting (which is all of them in this case) does not belong to me. I am only inflicting pain.

Feedback: Not especially cared about on this one, really. _If you wish, here or at kellenanneyahoo.com_

A/N: Kellen has had a very rough couple of days, and this is a bit of catharsis. Please let her have it. Lots of angst packed into a very short vignette, so if you're in the mood for something happy, I'd leave off this one. This was written as an emotional outlet for the author, so if you've criticisms about the story's premise, I respectfully ask that you please save it. If, however, you see stupid grammatical errors or find certain sentences that just don't seem clear or have suggestions on word order, or fleshing out or cutting certain scenes, please be my guest.

"Ada, I don't understand."

Elrond gazed into the dusky sky, gathering his strength before forcing himself to face the younger of his twin sons. Elrohir returned the gaze, openly displaying his grief and confusion. Tears gathered in the corners of the younger elf's eyes, and Elrond knew that they stemmed from not the fact that the young man had died, but how the man had died and how his death had affected their foster brother. "Do you not?" Elrond asked softly, hoarsely.He wanted nothing more than to find Estel, to wrap the man up in arms that had held him through various hurts, and chase away the pain with soft words, like he had when Estel was but a child.

As Elrohir shook his head, Elladan spoke. "I do." With a glance at Elrohir, he continued. "I suspect that Elrohir would too, had he thought to compare."

Elrohir's brow furrowed, and Elrond quirked a mirthless smile. "Aye. Elves are cowards in the end, aren't we, ion nin?"

Elladan nodded, displaying what was meant to be a smile but it contorted his features in such a way as to make him look to be in pain. "We fade. We sail. We escape as well."

Elrohir's face showed slow comprehension. Elrond sat near his sons, his eyes straying to the balcony and seeking the stars, praying that Estel's pain would allow the man to come home soon. "Humans are resilient. They can surprise you by bearing burdens that would break an elf. Sometimes, though, they fall under the strain, and when not given the choice to fade or sail, their self-given end can be..." Here Elrond paused, not wanting to say the word.

Elladan supplied it. "Messy."

"Aye," Elrond said.

"Do we find him?"

"Nay, Elrohir. Not now."

Silence reigned for a few moments before Elrohir spoke again. Elrond didn't hush him; Elrohir's endlessly working mind needed logical answers and rationalizations before he accepted anything. "Was I blind, Ada? Did he display such bouts of depression? Did he look and act as if he was breaking under strain of something great?"

Elrond shook his head. "It is not always apparent."

"They have such a short time to live." Elrohir shook his head. "Why would they cut it short by their own hand, no less?"

Elladan held up his hand. "Peace, brother. These are questions we will never understand, I think. Most men do not understand these questions, and they are asked every time this happens."

"Now do we find Estel?" Elrohir asked, impatience coloring his tone.

"Nay, Elrohir," Elrond answered. "Not now. Let him seek what comfort he can from solitude. He will return to us when he is ready to speak about his young friend."

"But, Ada --"

"Please, Elladan, do not worry overly much about Estel. He is close by and will not leave the borders of Imladris this night." Elrond looked again to the stars, seeking out Earendil as he was wont to do in times of distress. "He will be home by morning," he assured his sons again, "though he will be hurting."

"Ada, excuse my asking, but do you know this?"

"Guilt can be a powerful emotion, Elladan. It will drive him back to us."

"Guilt?" Elladan's voice contained surprise and grief. "Why would he feel guilty? 'Twas not by his hand that his young friend died."

"In his mind, it might as well have been," Elrond answered quickly. "His heart tells him that he should have seen it coming." He held up his hand. "Speak no more of it, please, my sons. Patience will only help us and Estel."

* * *

Legolas found his quarry where Gilraen had told him the young man would be. The woman had been grief-stricken and worried for her son, but had not wanted to seek him out on her own. When Legolas had asked where might find Estel, Gilraen had at first been adamant not to tell him, saying she respected his need to grieve alone for a bit. Legolas, known to disappear himself when sorrows became hard to bear, told her point blank that whether Estel needed alone time or not wasn't the issue; he needed a guardian. He promised Gilraen on the spot that though he find Estel, he would not disturb the man, nor would he attempt conversation, for he knew Estel's heart like he knew his own.

And he knew Estel's heart had shattered mere moments ago.

Legolas watched, crouched in a tree above the pool Estel found solace next to. Starlight, just starting to paint the sky, glittered in the still water. Nary a breath of wind disturbed the leaves nor rippled the grass. In the darkening twilight, Estel sat facing the pool, though obviously not seeing it. His back was against a tree trunk, his knees drawn to his chest and his arms wrapped around his knees. Dark, unruly hair hung over his face as he hung his head, and Legolas knew without looking, that his silver eyes were closed and his face lined with pain.

Legolas' heart broke, watching his dear friend unable to do anything but endure such pain. Wishing he had not promised the Lady Gilraen, he wanted nothing more desparately than to wrap his arms around the man's shoulders and offer what comfort he could.

So, with a hurting heart, he had lept into the trees with nary a sound and watched his charge with a sorrowful gaze.

* * *

Estel screwed his eyes shut against tears that threatened to spill over onto his cheeks and held his breath against the sobs that tried to tear his chest apart. He wanted nothing more than to break down, to scream out against the fates, to react in anger and grief.

His head hurt, but he didn't feel it. Nothing seemed to break past the physical hurt in his chest. His heart seemed to beat too fast, then stop suddenly. Blood rushed in his ears, making the peaceful glade sound as if the very heart of Mordor rushed into it. He moved, for the first time in many minutes, and clasped his hands behind his head, pressing his forearms against his ears, hoping to drown out the accusations he heard there.

It did no good, since the accusations came at him from within. His own heart turned against him. His mind railed against his blindness, and with all the logic and rationalization behind him, he told himself he was as much to blame as if he'd done the deed himself. He pressed against his head harder, and an anguished whimper escaped his tightly closed lips.

Legolas started at the noise and looked up his friend with the same concern that he usually reserved for critical wounds from orc blades. The man sounded to be in great physical pain, and Legolas' heart seemed to break anew. Breathing an entreaty for forgiveness from Gilraen, he lept from his perch to land lightly a few feet to the left of Estel, deliberately making some noise to alert the man of his presence.

Estel made no indication he'd heard. Legolas, without a word, settled into a crouch next to the man and slowly - lest he startle him -- wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Estel leaned into the embrace, muttering something over and over again, and even with Legolas' keen hearing, it took several repeats before the elf heard and several more before he understood.

"I killed him, I killed him, I killed him..."

Estel said it over and over again, trembling all the while. Legolas, tears springing to his eyes at his friend's pain, only held him tighter, not certain what, if anything, could be said.

* * *

Elrond watched the pair walk back toward the main house as the morning sun started to lighten the sky, gripping the handrail as if it were a lifeline. Estel looked the worse for wear and Legolas looked distinctly pained, but judging by the wan smile Estel threw at his friend, all would be well eventually. He stood still dressed in the robes of the evening before when they'd heard the news and Estel had rushed from the room. Elladan and Elrohir were sprawled on the couch and floor respectively, sound asleep.

"...the man couldn't sneak up on a barn without alerting it to his presence..."

Elrond brought his attention back to Estel as the young man spoke of the memories of the his young ranger friend. The same young ranger who'd hidden a pain so deep as to drive him to desperate measures. He looked closely at his fosterling's face. Estel still hid guilt behind a facade of pain, and Elrond knew not by foresight but from experience that that kind of guilt would never leave. It would always be a part of Estel's soul. Whether he hid it or acknowledged it, whether he used it for good or ill or ignored it, it would stay with him til the end of time.

Knowing it was a futile prayer, but saying it nonetheless, Elrond breathed, "May death never touch him again, and may his guilt over this vanish as if it had never been."

Elrond spoke the last word, and raised his face to the first rays of the bright morning sun.

THE END

And, aye, before you ask, I'm having some issues come up that I thought I had laid to rest. Being a storyteller by nature, this is a wonderful method of categorizing and thinking rationally. It is how I do things. shrugs I've also found that I can write a story for an outlet but if I never let anyone else see it, it doesn't work. So, y'all get to see a little grief. And, please, I don't want anyone afraid to say they enjoyed the story b/c they think that means they enjoyed the author's pain... I've had comments like that, and that totally misses the point. All stories are, by nature, a product of the author's experience.

Dang it, I'm getting all weirdly profound again. Scares me when I do that. :o)

Cheers,Kellen


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